Rekindle
by Tawny The Disturbed
Summary: It's been years since Will has seen Warren. And his goodbye haunts Will's sleep in the form of wonderful dreams and nightmares almost every night. He can balance his life between being a famous rockstar and the General, son of the Commander and Jetstream. But all of his strength cannot prepare him for the day that a quiet, scarred soldier shows up on his doorstep. Warren/Will
1. Phoenix

**Oh dear. How unlike me to just randomly brain-vomit a story out of the blue! Sarcasm...that brain-vomit thing was how Oxygen was born! I know I'm now testing my ability to multitask again, but trust me...I have the attention span of a peeled jellyfish, I can focus on several things at once. I know I also owe some of you requests. Don't worry, I'll eventually pedal them out. **

**Like I mentioned in my previous post in Oxygen, I _have_ become a member of AdultFF and I'll post my things over there as well if I ever become annihilated. It's the same pen name. TawnyTheDisturbed. So no worries, my friends. **

**Seeing as I have a LOAD of freetime at my new job, I spend a lot of time alone...thinking...writing...brain-vomiting. So just sit back in that pathetic excuse for a computer chair, or that flattened sad pillow with your laptop and enjoy the ride. **

**Rekindle. Like kindling? Haha, get it? Spark the relationship? Haha? Yeah...Rekindle, as in send sparks onto dead leaves to start the fire again, rebuild a friendship, and continue building into a most lovely relationship. **

**I feel like this is one of the most adult-like things I've written. It's probably like five or six years or so after Will's graduation at Sky High, so yeah, everyone's in their mid-twenties. I don't entirely mean adult like Rated R...I also mean like literally adult...Young men and woman who've joined the game, have a little experience, have adult qualities but still manage to be modern day big adult kids.**

**Enjoy then...PINEAPPLES!**

* * *

The darkness of night flooded the ammunitions camp. Men slept soundly purely out of exhaustion in a small, cramped barracks that smelled of stale sweat and piss. Those on the night watch walked silently through the shadows cast by the few overhanging lights that flickered weakly.

There were two small towers on either end of the small, hidden camp. They were connected by a rickety bridge made of old, salvaged ropes and roughly cut tree planks. Each tower housed a spotlight and was held down by one man. Both were currently smoking.

In the dimness, their cigarettes lit up with faint, glowing orange light. The watchman in the East lifted his cigarette from his lips and sleepily sighed out smoke. He reached up and rubbed at his eyes, checking his watch. It was 0256. According to his Sergeant, a helicopter was going to be arriving at 0300 sharp with a drop-off. The weary watchman reached back and scratched under his collar. Against his fist, he allowed himself to let out a long, stifled yawn.

It was such a long, eventless night. And the only things that made the night seem alive were the lazily strolling night watchmen below on the ground and the orange light from the West tower watchman's cigarette. He leaned against the railing with a sigh through his nose. Slowly, his eyes started to droop closed.

He forced them back open when his head lolled heavily. With another sigh, he took a drag off of his cigarette and unbuckled his helmet, setting it on the floor of the tower. Running his fingers through his shorn hair and rubbing at his scalp, he looked out over the camp. He raised his cigarette to his lips again and froze. He squinted in the dimness beneath the few buzzing lights. He could've sworn he'd just seen something move on the edge of camp in the trees and plants near the fencing.

Now awake, he jumped over to the spotlight, craned it around and turned it on. Light shined blindly, slicing through the dark. It illuminated a spot along the fence, turning the night-splashed forest life from black, creeping silhouettes to green, sleeping nature. The watchmen on the ground froze in their pacing, startled. Their hands moved instinctively to their automatic weapons. One man called up to the East tower watchman, asking what he'd seen as two other moved toward the illuminated area warily.

He relayed his suspicions back down to them and watched the two men search the area beneath his spotlight. After a short inspection, they turned to call back and say nothing was there. They were cut off when the spotlight in the West tower was flipped on and pointed at the opposite side of the camp. The West tower watchman called out that something moved along the fence line.

Two watchmen closest to the newly floodlit area moved quickly over to it. The East tower watchman looked to the sky when he heard the familiar sound of a helicopter approaching. He looked at his watch and saw that it was 0300. He glanced up and saw the flashing lights and spinning blades on the helicopter, now hovering over the camp. The watchmen abandoned the fence inspection to receive the drop-off.

The East tower watchman looked back at his watch again, impressed with the helicopter's religious punctuality. The numbers changed before his eyes to 0301.

He jumped when bright, red-orange light washed over his hands. He looked up and in a fleeting second, he saw that the light was coming from a ball of fire shooting through the air from the forest. It collided before his eyes with the tail of the helicopter, igniting a loud explosion. Sparks flew onto the tower and the watchman threw up his arms to protect his head.

The men throughout the camp yelled and screamed, cursing out in confusion and fear, blowing their alarm whistles. The helicopter whirled out of control and fell toward the ground. From the opposite side of the camp, a ball of fire shot out of the forest and struck the face of the helicopter in midair, igniting a larger, more heated explosion. The watchman looked on in horror as the helicopter was swallowed by fire, and crashed to the ground with a horrible boom.

He grabbed his helmet and frantically climbed down from the tower as fire fell from its roof. His fellow men shouted out in fear in their language as he cradled his weapon, shakily strapping his helmet back onto his head. He quickly dove to the ground, covering his head when a string of flames short from another angle, and lit up a neatly stacked pile of crates loaded with stolen and stockpiled guns and ammunition.

He looked up and scooted backward when a line of fire moved across the ground in front of him, weaving and ducking as if it were a snake, hunting and _alive_. An explosion rose into the air, shoving his body twenty feet with the force of the blast.

He recognized the voice of his Sergeant, telling him to get to his feet. Swiftly, he obeyed and looked up at the aged, determined face of the older man. He called out for his men to put on their masks. He yelled out a squad number and ordered them to put out the fires with anything they could find. He yelled out another squad number and ordered them to break the perimeter and find the attackers. The Sergeant picked up a gun and went running through the panicked, but obedient crowd, pulling on his own mask against the smoke.

The East watchman reached to his belt for his oxygen mask, but fumbled and ducked when another load of ammunition exploded in a wave of red flames. Fear struck his heart when a bird of fire with eyes of red rose from the explosion in the plumes of flames with an echoing fiery shriek. He coughed against the smoke as fear blackened to terror when the bird faded into the flames. Someone screamed, "PHOENIX!"

He cradled his gun and all of the stories of the American Super soldier flooded into his head in a fit of horror. A pyrokinetic who had been sieging their camps all over the place, melting away their weapons, igniting their gunpowder and burning down the camps with very few survivors. The East watchman feared that he would be claimed in this burning camp, and he would be nothing but a story. In a brief moment of indecision, he considered abandoning the camp, and fleeing on foot. But his Sergeant came back to him, mask on his face, and seized his shoulders.

He yelled for him to put on his mask as the East watchman coughed. With shaking hands the watchman unhooked his mask from his belt. He secured it shakily over his face, tightening the straps and engaging the pressure to filter clean air to his lungs.

And then his Sergeant gave him a cryptic command. The East watchman knew exactly what the older man meant, knew exactly what his superior was ordering him to do. It had been a recent addition to the camp's defenses, and the other camps and bases that were so far untouched by the fiery destruction. It was made specifically for an attack by the Phoenix. At this moment, the East watchman wanted to be one of the few survivors that walked away from their blazing camps. And he almost fled from his Sergeant's grasp.

But his Sergeant tightened his grip and gave the same command, this time with more vigor. He warned him that everyone still alive would die if he didn't take the East while he himself took the West since the West watchman was dead.

So he gave a nod, and did as he was told. Over his shoulder he heard the Sergeant yelling out an ambiguous warning to the remaining men. He rushed to the locker just beneath the burning East tower. He threw open the door and twisted the switch. He waited for the light to turn green to signal that the Sergeant had twisted the switch in the West. The second it turned green, he yanked out the switch and flipped it down to activate the defenses. He turned around and looked through the flames. Men ran around with masks on their faces, trying to put out the fires, and failing. He watched black clouds begin to rise from the pipes lying throughout the camp.

Briefly, he thought about how much tripping had occurred once these pipes were installed. He remembered the men, and himself griping about their presence. But now, as the black clouds began to spread throughout the camp and mix with the smoke, he felt blessed. It spread almost as fast as the fire.

More explosions overtook the camp, smelling of gunpowder and blood. The East tower moaned with pain above him and he quickly moved out from under it. He lifted his weapon, trembling with fear but also with a new determination brought on by the rising black clouds. In the orange-tinted darkness, he saw movement up in the trees.

Fire rose from the shoulders of a man-like figure, almost forming wings, and flying him high above the camp, and then went out. The man dropped down through the air where he landed at a crouch on the rickety bridge between the blazing towers. And he stood, looking out over the damage to the camp with his back to the East watchman. And right before his eyes, fire began to flock to the man's form from the bridge and rise from his body, and he began to dissolve into the flames.

The watchman quickly raised his gun, and yanked back the trigger. His shots rang out through the chaos and he saw the Phoenix stiffen and drop to the planks on the bridge. The watchman screamed out for his Sergeant, calling out that the Phoenix was overhead.

The Sergeant paused in his attempt to extinguish a rolling and screaming man. He looked toward his East watchman and then up at the bridge just as it burned away from the flames. And a fire-haloed man dropped down to the ground only yards away. He handed off the canvas to another passing soldier who immediately began pounding the rolling, screaming man. The Sergeant drew his knife and ran toward the downed Phoenix.

The East watchman saw his Sergeant charging toward the fallen, flaming man, and rushed to his aid. As his Sergeant came upon the Phoenix, the figure burst heavily into bloody fire, spreading racing lines of flames along the ground, coiling around the boots of the Sergeant. A wall of fire reached up in front of the young watchman and he recoiled, slapping out the flames on the sleeves of his uniform. He called out his Sergeant's name as the towers collapsed under the stress of the flames. The fire spread yet, and he turned and fled away from the reaching, hungry heat.

* * *

Tradewind rubbed his hand back over his shaved scalp. In the far distance, he could faintly see the camp glowing in the night, engulfed in flames. He paced, waiting for his man to come back so they could hastily vacate the area. He looked at his watch. 0323.

"He was supposed to be here over ten minutes ago, Tradewind. This isn't like him. Something's wrong."

Tradewind glanced back at the speaker. He observed the elongated teeth and claws of the wolven man as they extended with tenseness and worry. He stared into the glowing yellow eyes as he contemplated his next move. "Alpha, if he's not here in two minutes, I want you to take Spike and Snowblind and kick rocks." He finally declared.

"We can't just leave him." Alpha literally growled in protest.

"That's why I'm gonna go get him." Tradewind retorted.

"Sir, with all due respect, Phoenix knew what he was getting into. It's 0324. We've now strayed fourteen minutes from the plan. We're pushing it." Spoke the only woman in the group, face illuminated by the faint glow of the red glow sticks staked in the ground around them.

Another man growled, "He didn't leave _you_ behind back in K3, did he, you prickly bitch."

"Suck this you, frosty asshole!" The woman barked, raising her arm, spikes rising swiftly from the back of her hand, ready to launch at him. Alpha growled a warning as the other man's hands clenched into icy fists.

"Spike! Snowblind! Enough!" Tradewind hissed and pointed, "Look!"

Silence overtook the group as they looked up. Relief washed through Tradewind when he saw firelight approaching in the sky. But immediately he knew something was wrong. The wings of fire were faint and weak. The fire lining his shoulders and arms was patchy and small. And then the fire completely died out and a body came plummeting toward the ground.

Tradewind raised his palms, yelling out. The forest winds heard his cry and rushed to aid him. A gust of wind flew over their heads and cradled the falling man, bringing him closer to their circle. With his fall softened, Tradewind allowed him to hit the ground with a grunt.

The group rushed forward as he rolled over.

"Phoenix!"

His back arched up off of the ground and his entire body trembled. His fingers were rigid, claw-like and covered in blood. A reddened knife fell from his grasp. And his breath was nothing but short, empty gasps and wheezes from his open mouth. "Jesus Christ, he's fucking _cold_!"

"He can't breathe!"  
"Gunshot and stab wounds!"

"Spike, get the kit and bring the blankets!" Tradewind commanded.

He watched the pyro's dark, rolling eyes caught sight of him. He had never seen such fear and pain in the young man's eyes. "Get his armor open, we gotta staunch the bleeding!"

Snowblind gently peeled at the straps and Alpha growled, "Oh, move!" He shoved Snowblind aside and ran a claw down the middle of the vest, then tore it open. The jerk of the vest illicited a pained grunt from Phoenix. "Careful!" Snowblind shouted. Spike returned with a bag and all five of their rolled up blankets.

"Stop the bleeding, Spike, we gotta open an airway!" Alpha's gravelly voice interceded. "Get the fucking box out!" Tradewind barked.

Snowblind fished into the bag and yanked out a metal box as Spike tugged out a heap of bandages. He threw open the lid and grabbed at disinfectant wipes, ripping open their packets. He turned and wiped at the base of Phoenix's throat before Alpha approached with a clean scalpel.

The wheezing, helpless young man before them seized Alpha's hands and pushed them away, shaking his head slightly as he writhed. "Phoenix, you gotta let me," Alpha started, but Phoenix shook his head again, gasping. He tapped his shaking, bloody hand over his mouth and nose a few times.

"A mask! Get a mask!" Snowblind cried, diving back into the bag. He yanked out a coil of cords and searched for the oxygen mask.

"Hurry up, Snowblind!" Spike yelled, her hands shaking as she pressed the stained, bunched up bandages to Phoenix's wounds.

"Snowblind!" Alpha warned as he watched Phoenix's eyes roll back into his head and his breath faded away. Snowblind jumped forward, shoving the mask over the pyro's face and pulled tight the strap around his head. Tradewind pressed the tab and a hissing noise was released as the mask drew oxygen from the air. "C'mon, Phoenix!" Spike cried.

"Phoenix!" Snowblind echoed.

Alpha ground his sharp teeth.

Tradewind shook the young man, "Breathe, goddamnit!"

As if obeying the order, Phoenix pulled in a huge, shaky gasp contradictory to the previous empty, struggling rasps. Phoenix wheezed heavily, drawing long gulps of oxygen. "He's still bleeding too much, Sir!" Spike warned, grabbing at a blanket and replacing the bandages with her bloody hands.

"Wrap him up, let's go!" Tradewind barked, unrolling and throwing a blanket around the shivering, bleeding pryo, listening to his long, grateful gasps.


	2. A Popular Man

**Quote of the day: "When walking in open territory, bother no one. If someone bothers you, tell him to stop. If he does not...destroy him."**

**To be honest, I've had bits and pieces of this chapter written for a long time...It was the first chapter I wrote for Rekindle. It just took a long-ass time to finish it...and then I wrote the real first chapter...hehe...brain-vomit.**

**Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. Have a wonderful Yule. Happy Hanukah. Happy Quanza. Feliz Navidad. And all of the other holidays going on right now that I sadly don't know of. **

**I hate the chair I sit in at work...I'm eighteen...WAY too young to have back problems...**

**Dear Santa...I want PINEAPPLES...**

**Read on then. Get to know a mid-twenties William Stronghold.**

* * *

**~Will~**

My hand slapped around in the dark of my bedroom. Music was playing obnoxiously loud. When I grasped some sort of consciousness, I realized that it was my phone playing ACDC's _Highway To Hell_. My tired fist grabbed the fucking thing and my thumb slid it open to answer while my face was still buried in my pillow. I pressed the rude little device against my ear and croaked, "Her-lo?"

"Hi, Will. I'm just calling to inform you that Ballston requested a photo-op and interview about last night's filmed concert for bonus material," answered a boisterous female voice.

I groaned sleepily, rolling over onto my side and pushing back my long hair. I grumbled unintelligently, "Wha? Ri-now?"

"No not right this minute. But hopefully before noon? What do you think?"

I cleared my throat loudly with a tired cough. "Sh…ahem…Shadow, the fuck time is it?" There was a pause on the other end and Shadow answered almost joyfully, "A little after six."

"In'uh morning?" I asked devastatingly.

"Yes." Shadow replied.

"Shadow…I went to bed…two _hours_ ago…" I rasped, running my fingertips tenderly over my closed, sleep-swollen eyes.

"Ah. So I'll take that as a 'fuck Ballston'?" Shadow asked with a small laugh.

"Yeah…fuck Ballston." I grunted, rolling over onto my face again.

"So I'll schedule that photo-op and interview for tomorrow?" Shadow asked.

"Mmm."

"Okay. I'll let Ballston know." Her voice informed me.

"Y'know Shadow," I mumbled through my pillow, "next time you interrupt my precious sleeping pattern, I'm gonna come at you with a giant magnet…and suck all the metal outta your face."

Shadow laughed. "Whoo! Very dramatic. I like it. You're a creative person, Will."

"So I've heard." I grunted. "G'night."

"Goodnight, Will." Shadow laughed and then there was a beep after a second of silence to let me know the call had ended. I slapped my cell phone onto the side table and dropped my arm back onto the mattress with a rugged sigh.

"Sunnova bitch," I grumbled. It wasn't that I didn't like Shadow or anything. She'd been the band's manager ever since its birth and she did a fucking good job. She was a good friend. It was just that I was exhausted…and still wasted. Plus, I'd been having that dream again. It was a reoccurring dream for nearly four years. It made me feel happy and so goddamned sad at the same time. I couldn't decide if it was a pipedream or a nightmare.

Right now it felt like a nightmare in what was left of my drunkenness. The pillow was dampened slightly by a few tears and I felt tormented. I sighed into the casing, reached back and pulled the blanket higher over me. After turning onto my side, I curled up, and waited for sleep to come out from underneath my bed where it dove after being scared shitless by my ringtone. And as I slowly began to slip back into the darkness of slumber, half awake, half asleep, I heard his voice in my mind. Having a conversation with me that I could never stop remembering.

_"Stronghold…I'm leaving."_

_ "What? Why? Where are you going?"_

I rolled over onto my other side quickly, furrowing my eyebrows and mumbling groggily, telling it to stop. That I was too tired…and too wasted to cry tonight.

* * *

It was hard to force my eyes open once I was beginning to really wake up. The light pouring through the windows was ridiculously bright and I blearily mumbled for Zack to turn off. I became more aware after a couple of minutes and cursed myself for not drawing the blackout curtains last night. I rolled over and grabbed at my alarm clock, lifting my hair from my face. 2:30pm.

With a long yawn I stretched out on the bed, my limbs shaking. I started to taste that awful, _dreadful_ taste and grimaced. My tongue moved around in my mouth, trying to rid itself of that flavor, but it stayed. _Toothbrush…_ I thought, and slid my feet onto the floor, very slowly sitting up.

"Whoa…"

_Yep, _I realized as I stood up straight and my brain felt as if it had dropped to the floor and my stomach sloshed queasily around in my abdomen. _I'm fairly hung-over…_

With a callous kick, my discarded clothes from last night moved out from under my feet. I briefly wondered why there was a red pair of boxers tucked into the back pocket of my jeans.

I left my bedroom wearing nothing but sunglasses and stumbled to the kitchen. Nauseously, I ignored the coffeemaker. After spilling most of the contents of my medicine cupboard on the counter, I found Alka Seltzer Morning Relief in the basket beside the coffeepot with an annoyed grumble and popped a couple in a glass. I filled it with water from the sink and waited as it dissolved. Squinting from behind my sunglasses, I looked out the bright window.

A black Roadster pulled into the driveway. I turned away, still feeling woozy and sensitive to light. I gulped down the Alka Seltzer water and opened the fridge again, crouched dizzily down and grabbed a can of ginger ale and cracked it open.

The front door opened downstairs as I took a long swig of the fizzy soda to try and calm the storm in my stomach. I heard him move around a little and he said something I couldn't hear, and then laughed. A few seconds after the laugh, up the stairs came a shout.

"Hey, Will! You up, mate?!"

I hissed in pain at the loud call of the Aussie's voice. I decided not to shout back on account of my pounding head. Instead I pulled a jar of pickles out of the fridge and closed the door while wondering to myself, _Why did I give _him_ a spare key?_

I brought the jar over to the counter, sipping on my ginger ale. I heard him come up the stairs. "Hey, Will, did you know-? Oh, running 'round in the raw, I see? Got someone in the bedroom? Ya _slut_."

"It's _my_ house, Andrew. I can run 'round in the raw if I want to," I said, mimicking his accent, "and no, I don't." I added with a mumble.

I heard him hum in recognition and then he chuckled. "Ooh, you called me _Andrew_. Bit cranky and hung-over are we?"

In response, I stiffly twisted open the top of the pickle jar which made a hollow pop noise.

"Pickles? Yep. Hung-fuckin'-over big time. Hang in there, mate, I'll make ya a Bloody Mary," his voice said, "but first I'll go 'round and find you some pretty knickers."

I grunted again, brushing back my hair and crunching on a pickle. He rooted around in my bedroom for about a minute and then came waltzing back into the kitchen.

"Here ya go."

I felt the slap of cotton against my shoulder. I put my pickle in between my teeth like a cigar and slipped on the retrieved boxers, hiding my nakedness.

"Hell, you even got the shades out. I mean, I felt kind of ill when I woke up, but not as bad as you. But then again, you _really_ drank last night. Way more than any of us."

Finally, I glanced at Andy, crunching on my pickle. He looked showered, shaved and pressed in a plain black, chest-hugging long-sleeved, button-down shirt and dark stonewashed jeans which was unusual for a Sunday afternoon for him. He even managed to wrestle his long, wild, blonde hair into a hair tie and that feat was impressive not just for a Sunday afternoon, but any day of the week. A fucking Sunday afternoon usually meant thrice-recycled boxers, a sleeveless shirt (or none) and couch-loafing for him.

"What're you doin' here anyways, Andy?" I asked. "We don't have practice. And I already told Shadow that I wasn't doing that Ballston thing today…Oh good, god, we didn't lock Zack in the light box again did we?"

"No…well…at least I don't think so…and that was hilarious and ya know it. Besides, he was happy with all of his little blinky, flashy light brothers and sisters." Andy laughed, recalling the event. "Anyways, Shadow called me and suggested that I come and check on ya. She said you sounded like you had the plague over the phone at fucking six o'clock this morning which I can't say I blame ya for." He said, smiling lightly as he went through my fridge for tomato juice. "Come to think of it, she said she tried to call Zack first to check on you, but his cell phone was dead and no answer on Magenta's end…I'm fairly offended I wasn't the first she called…"

I muttered, "Oh poor you."

"Anyways, I didn't make it back to my place 'til around that time as it was. N' I woke up this afternoon, still dressed, 'cept for my boxers…which can be either a really good sign or a really _not_-good sign."

I cocked an eyebrow and thought briefly about last night, trying to remember if I saw him stripping or something. But the previous night was a blur. But then I glanced tiredly toward my bedroom. "I wouldn't worry about it. I think they're hanging out of my back jeans pocket on the floor in my room." I assured him, rubbing at my eyes under my sunglasses.

Andy backed out of the fridge, "Really? Good. I was worried that I mighta gotten _taken_ _advantage_ _of_ in the dunny or something."

I shook my head and sipped from my ginger ale, sitting down at the table and plopping my chin into my palm. "No one takes advantage of you…you give willingly…Besides you were wasted enough."

"Look who's talking, mate, you were worse than me. Worse than everybody. I thought you were gonna swallow the place." Andy said as he mixed me up a Bloody Mary.

"Based on this shitty taste in my mouth, I guess I was. But you were still pretty bad." I said, setting down the empty can.

"Yeah, one more drink would've sent me under that bar." Andy chuckled. He flicked a hand over his shoulder and I lazily watched the fridge open by itself and a bag of celery came out. It moved over into his open hand. And with the turn of his index finger, the fridge closed.

"One more drink and I would've been under that barman." I said, leaning my chin into my hand, watching him open the bag and crack off a stick. Andy burst out laughing and slipped the stick into the drink after breaking off the end. I took the Bloody Mary and gingerly sipped from it.

"No more free drinks for me," I mumbled. "My liver can't take much more of this."

Andy was still laughing, "Yer livah? You could swallow Drain-O and you wouldn't get nothing more than a belly ache."

"I don't even know how I got home last night." I said, scratching idly at my head before taking another gulp of Andy's red cure. When I tipped the glass up a little, the celery poked me in the eye. "Ow." I groaned and leaned my head back, "I'm having a bad day!"

Andy pouted for me and pinched my cheek, "Hang in there." Then he smiled, "Well, it seems like yer okay. I'll let Shadow know that yer not deceased. And I'll make sure she lets the band know about Ballston."

"Okay." I said. As he headed quickly for the stairs, checking the time on his cellphone, I asked, "Got a hot date?"

He snorted, "Actually yes. A double-date!"

I cocked an eyebrow. "_You're_ going on a double-date?"

"Yep! With a gorgeous young lady and her gorgeous young twin brothah. I've always had a thing for that copper skin and long black hair." Andy said, glancing back at me when he reached the top of the stairs.

I wasn't really sure if he was joking or not. Andy was prone to having relationships with two people at once. Not in the cheating way. The three-way. But despite that familiarity of Andy's threesomes, I found this situation a bit weird. Not the part where he was going to romp with a guy…he'd romp with _any_ guy as long as there was a girl involved. But the part I found weird was that a girl and her twin brother were most likely gonna go at it together with Andy this afternoon.

"So…incest?" I asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Andy laughed, "Nooo, they're not that kinky." He tossed his keys into the air and they still, hovering over his palm. "They just like sharing." He looked off into space dreamily, twirling his finger, making the keys spin, "And this afternoon…I'm gonna be in the middle of a delicious sex sandwich." His keys dropped into his fist with a clink to add drama to what he'd just said.

I shook my head, sipping from my bloody cure, "You're a sick…sick man."

"Your judgment hurts me, Will!" Andy said, grabbing his heart. Then he descended the stairs. "Have a wonderful day, you hateful, drunken, heart-breaker!"

"You too, you Australian harlot…"

"…The fuck is a harlot?!" He yelled. But I heard the door slam so I had no room to answer.

Instead I tipped back the glass, gulping the last of it down. With a sigh, I laid my head on the table. The phone rang and I cringed, rubbing my temples. I rose from my chair and went over to the counter where the phone sat beside the coffee pot. I grabbed the devilish ringing thing and pulled it off the hook. Without bothering to glance at the caller ID, I hit the answer button. "_Hello_?"

"Yo, Will, man. I am flipping out man!"

I sighed and rubbed at my eyes, "Zack, please tell me you're not locked in the light box again."

"No!" Zack was whisper-yelling. I brushed back my hair. My first theory was that he'd been kidnapped by the mob and had stolen a cell phone and was now secretly contacting me. I chuckled at my own mental joke. Then I realistically figured that he'd just woken up in a weird motel room with powdered sugar from fried Oreos all over his face and he thought he was crack-head again. "Then what is it?"

"I woke up in a weird motel room,"

Fifty points, I thought to myself.

"and there was a strange naked lady in the bed with me!" Zack whispered.

I paused, _Okay that's new._ "You cheated on, Magenta?"

"I hope not! 'Cause Magenta was in the bed too!"

I narrowed my eyes and mumbled, "God, what is with everyone and threesomes today? You're _all_ animals." "What do I do?!"

I sighed again and stood up straight, leaning against the fridge, "First, you need to chill out. Take a deep breath. Unlock the bathroom door and just go with whatever Magenta does. If she's weirded out, you're weirded out. If she's cool, you're cool. If she's mad, run."

"What?!"

I quickly hung up. Then I went back to my bedroom and flopped down on the bed. And what felt like only seconds later, my cell phone was going off, loudly playing _Highway To Hell_. I groaned and rolled over. Something pinched my stomach and I reached under me as the song kept playing. They were my sunglasses. With a groan I tossed them onto my nightstand and grabbed my cellphone. The ID read: Layla.

I cleared my throat thoroughly and then slid open my phone. "Hi, Layla." I greeted pleasantly.

"Hey, Will. I figured you'd be up by now."

I chuckled, "I'm gettin' there."

"I'm sure. I'm sorry I didn't stay all the way through the after-party. I _did_ have a meeting in the morning." She apologized.

Faintly I heard sprinklers fizzing on her end. I figured that she was walking through the greenhouses of her company, talking to me on her Bluetooth. LoveLife was a combination of an animal shelter, sanctuary, ranch, and farm with its greenhouses, fields all taken care of by solar energy and various forms of photosynthesis. It was way up there with the other go-green companies.

"It's fine. How're the ladies?"

"The usual. Penis envy."

I laughed. It made my head spin, but I still laughed. It was rare that Layla would tell a joke like that, and it always made me laugh. The redhead was so loving and caring, and had sympathy for just about any living thing whether it be a fluffy little stray kitten or a cold, destructive villain whom she referred to as a "misguided individual". But she wasn't all love and bunnies. She had her devious sense of humor and a deadly eye when she was angered.

"I take it that the meeting didn't go well?" I asked, reluctantly pushing myself up from the warm sheets of my bed.

"No. No, it did not." Layla sighed. "They say that they're supportive feminists, but they're all just misandrists. And that is a bad thing indeed."

I nodded against the phone, putting my feet on the floor. I smiled at her light and airy way of making conversation. She was smoothing over her convictions slightly, obviously doing her best not to go on a rant. So I played along. "The hatred of any sex is a bad thing."

"Indubitably." Layla agreed, and I heard her laugh. It was a loud, melodious yet _slightly_ obnoxious sound that was very contagious and often drew smiles from others. It made me think of recess in elementary school, getting ice cream from the ice cream truck, the dirty jokes that we all used to tell while lazing about in the park, and the evenings she and I used to spend sitting on my roof outside my bedroom window back in Sky High just talking and reflecting.

Right after she laughed, I heard a high-pitched, excited yip on her end and asked, "Is that Cassius?"

"Yes it is. When are you gonna come down and visit your own dog? He's grown since you last saw him." Layla asked and then laughed again. I heard panting breath and I figured the pup had enticed her to crouch down and was now licking her face. The little chocolate lab had always been a kisser since I'd found him almost dead a couple months ago in an alley. After finding him, I'd taken him straight to Layla's shelter where they got him healthy again.

Ultimately, I knew Layla had fallen in love with him the moment she saw the puppy smile. She referred to him as my dog since I'd named him, but I knew he was all hers.

"I actually got the day off today. Want me to come down to LoveLife?" I asked.

"I have an expo in half an hour. But it should be over by seven, so if you'd like, you can come for dinner." Layla offered.

"That'd be _great_." I answered, pushing back my hair with an excited smile.

"You know, I think we should just have everyone over. It's been a while since we've gotten together and just had dinner. What do you think?"

Personally, I thought that I hadn't had a moment alone with Layla for a long time. And I missed it. It wasn't that I didn't love Zack, Ethan and Magenta to death, because I did. I just usually spent time with them daily because they were part of the band. But it hadn't always been the gang. Before Sky High, it had been just me and Layla. And I wouldn't mind an evening to just hang out with her while I forced myself to eat her grassy lasagna.

"That sounds good." I agreed, settling my hand back on the mattress, trying not to sound dejected.

"Let's keep the drinking down to a minimum. I'd rather not see the victory dance that Zack does when Magenta picks up some woman for the both of them to fornicate with again." Layla said jokingly.

"Oh good god, he called me this afternoon. He was freaking out. He had no idea why there was a 'strange naked lady' in the bed with him and Magenta." I laughed, rubbing at my eyes.

I could hear Layla's smile in her voice, "I can imagine that he was very," She stopped and faintly I heard someone say something on her end. "Will, I'm gonna have to let you go. I'll send out a text to everyone else to be here around 7:30."

"Sure. Sounds good." I said.

"Alright. Bye, Will."

"See you later, Layla." And then there was a click. Looking at my phone, I pulled in a long breath and sighed. Then I pushed myself up to my feet. After flicking on the light, I went over to my dresser and pulled out a pair of red basketball shorts and a sleeveless blue shirt. Once I was dressed, I went out to the kitchen again.

Whistling a tune I'd been working on lately, I did the dishes piled in the sink. Apparently I'd been hungry when I'd gotten home this morning. I picked up the drained Bloody Mary glass. Not wanting to waste a perfectly good celery stick, I stuck it between my teeth as I dried my hands.

My phone vibrated and a guitar strum came from it to alert me about a text message. With a crunch I snapped the celery, and enjoyed every bit of the calorie-burning goodness. I slid open my phone and opened the text. It was from Magenta.

_Look what I found_, it said. I lowered an eyebrow and scrolled down. It was a picture of me. I recalled the photo-shoot when Shadow had us all pose for our third album _What's Left of Me _in random places in an old boneyard of skeletal remains of cars, boats, and even a few train cars. I was crouched down in the nearly crushed doorway of an old subway car.

I was wearing a severely dusty, ripped up pair of jeans with my bare feet, ankles and half of my shins showing beneath the torn up pant legs. A worn-down, dirty, gray-blue hoodie with an old 'bloodstained' tear in the side, along the stomach, giving the camera what Shadow had called a "decent helping" of my abs. My hair was tied back messily, some locks hanging around or in my face.

I was wielding a spear made from a couple of rusty license plates hammered together and sharpened for the spearhead lashed to a blackened street sign pole…or what Andy had called a "ghetto, post-apocalyptic, fuck-off stick". My face was a bit dirty, and I was glaring like I'd never glared before into the camera with a slightly cocked eyebrow.

Someone on the internet had apparently made it into a meme photo. Above my head and down at my feet were large, white words. They read: _YEAH, I'M GAY…WANNA DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT ASSHAT?_

I snorted, and texted back, _Asshat?_

She texted back when I was in the fridge, getting out four water bottles. I slid open my phone and opened her message. _I applaud the creativity of the maker…_

I smirked and went down the stairs, shooting her a reply. _U would. So how was ur afternoon? _With a chuckle, I pushed the door to my study where. My treadmill, equipment and weights sat on one side of the room. Bookshelves lined the other wall near my desk with all kinds of papers, and my laptop. My stereo sat on the little coffee table under a window with my powered off iPod sitting in its dock. Everything was housing a couple of weeks' worth of dust since I hadn't been home a lot preparing for the concert.

I set down my waters and my phone to tie back my hair. My text tone went off and I opened her reply.

_Delightful, im glad that zack decided to update u_

_I honestly had NO idea u swung that way,_ I knew I was poking the guinea pig with a stick, but what did I have to fear? Her powers may have developed massively, but I was still indestructible. And besides, I knew she wouldn't hit me too hard. She and I had gotten pretty close from being on stage so much together.

_There are all kinds of things u dont know about me. For example u dont know that I kno that u cant remember why andys boxers were hanging out of ur back pocket when u woke up today…_

_Why?_ I asked, having forgotten about it and now was genuinely curious.

She didn't answer for a minute or two, so I took that time to go over to my stereo and select my Exercise playlist on my iPod. I scooped up my cell when it went off to signal the arrival of her reply.

_SUFFER_

"Damnit." I grumbled.

_Bitch…_

There was no reply after three minutes.

"Fuck…" I mumbled, climbing onto the treadmill and grabbing the stereo remote. With the press of a button, the room was filled with loud rock music that I usually listened to get the blood pumping. I knew that the reason why Andy's boxers were hanging from my back pocket wasn't anything to worry about. But there was definitely a reason juicy enough for Magenta to be waving it in my face like that.

I placed my water bottles on the shelf beside the treadmill so I could easily reach them. I turned the speed to 6.5 and started moving. Being a Super of my strength and endurance, it took a lot for me to actually get exercise. An average mortal man my age who exercised regularly probably needed to jog on a treadmill for half an hour. An average mortal man my age who exercised regularly probably did five sets of 20 at 20-40 lbs. for every weight lifting muscle. An average mortal man my age who exercised regularly probably did about five sets of 10-15 chin-ups, for lifting oneself in such a manner is no small feat. An average mortal man my age who exercised regularly most likely did average mortal workouts with leg and abs.

I did my own kind of Super average kind of workout. A hell of a lot of running, and a lot of really, _really_ heavy lifting. It had been a bit difficult for me when I'd decided to start proactively working out in high school. It was more than just getting fit, and staying fit however. I had massive amounts of strength that I often didn't know what to do with and mountains of energy that needed to be depleted daily for me to gain an amount of control. And Dad taught me that using your strength was a good way to control it, and to _never_ keep it bottled up inside. That was never good for anyone.

So during high school, Sky High had been luckily equipped with plenty of things heavy enough for me to lift with. And at home, I found myself in the garage lifting Mom and Dad's cars.

A couple of years ago Dad actually became inventive and managed to compact a thousand pounds into a plain rounded lift weight. He even made himself a set for home and abandoned going to the shipyards and train yards every other day to lose himself in all of the heavy machinery to lift. I was thoroughly impressed, I could only imagine what my mom thought…

So I had an effective weight set and equipment that could withstand it. I was a satisfied Super in decent shape unlike Ian the Impersonator from Sky High. I'd only seen his true form a couple of times in the past five years. He'd probably tacked on about sixty pounds since graduation. But it wasn't a big deal. He'd never really prided himself on looking like himself anyway based on all of the impersonating he did to mess with everyone.

As I ran, I closed my eyes for a minute and listened. I listened to Disturbed tell me about indestructible masters of war. I listened to the guitar speak to me, the drums call to me and the bass grumble to me. The blended sounds sunk into my veins and made it feel like every single hair on my body was tensing and tingling. My heart pounded rigorously in my chest. It was probably the strongest muscle I had. It needed to be strong to take all of stress of my powers.

It took an hour for my endurance to really be tested. Despite being able to run for extended periods of time, I wasn't much of a runner, so I had a slightly decent sweat going when I powered down the treadmill. With a sigh, I wiped a towel against my face.

Just as I went to lay down against the leg press, the house phone rang. I groaned, grabbed the cordless off the shelf and laid down on the leg press. I was a popular man as always. I mumbled about needing a secretary as I hoisted my feet onto the flat, and pushed several tons up until my legs were straight. Finally, I hit pause on the stereo remote, and answered after seeing that the ID was my parent's house phone.

"Hello." I greeted pleasantly.

"Mr. Party Time! I didn't think you'd be awake!"

I grunted, pushing the weights up again as I spoke, "Well good afternoon to you too, Dad." The poor guy had expected me to go into real estate with him and Mom as soon as I graduated Sky High. He hadn't expected that the small jam sessions I'd had going on in the garage for years to turn into an actual rock band.

He'd thought it had just been teenagers being teenagers. Me playing the guitar. Magenta playing a lot better than me on her bass. Zack putting on funny little light shows. Zack putting on funny little light shows as if we were actually on stage, and then learning how to play the drums. Ethan recording them and editing them on his laptop, making everything actually look and sound cool. Layla sitting on the couch, just smiling and laughing.

He wasn't entirely a fan of the idea of me being a rock star, but he did his best to accept "modern ideas". Sure, once in a while he mentioned how he couldn't imagine what his own father would've done if he'd become some rock star. I don't think he really enjoyed most of the music, maybe a few acoustic songs, but that was most likely it. Mom on the other hand told me that she listened to our music all the time, even the really loud, angry songs. She'd been a Joan Jett, ACDC, Motorhead, Souxsie and the Banshees metalhead as a teenager herself despite her lady-like demeanor, school books and skirts.

"We're sorry we missed the concert last night. We got a call on the emergency phone."

"Did you?" I asked, focusing on the tons I was pushing up and down with my legs. Then I paused, "Wait, why didn't I get the call?"

I heard Mom in the background, "What's he saying?"

"He's asking why he didn't get the call too." Dad explained away from the phone.

Mom's voice was suddenly on the phone directly. I figured that she'd taken it from Dad. "We didn't want to interrupt the big concert! Hey, I get a free copy of the DVD right?"

I heaved a sigh and said, "Saving the world is more important than a stupid concert."

Mom laughed, "Oh yeah right. This wasn't just some stupid concert. It was a recorded performance with hours of bonus material and interviews straight to DVD! _Again_, I'd like a copy."

"Mom, I,"

She kept going, "This is _way_ more than just a cover to you. It's your actual livelihood, your passion. Besides, me and your father had it handled. We got out of a meeting with some terrible, needy, _rude_ clients. I swear they pissed me off so much. Kicking the shit out of Boltneck's spiderbots made me feel _so_ much better."

With a laugh I shook my head. "Well that's good at least."

"Anyways, we just called to say sorry about missing the concert, and that I expect my free DVD." Mom laughed.

"You'll get your goddamn free DVD, woman. Jeez." I grunted, feigning annoyance.

She made a kissing sound and said, "Love you! Buh-bye!"

"Bye, son!" I heard Dad call.

"Bye."

After hanging up, I tossed the phone over my head and hit play on the stereo remote. Five Finger Death Punch was telling me how they'd become fucking bulletproof. Angrily and loudly and of course. I smirked to myself, pressing the tons back up with my legs. Years ago, I would've never expected myself to be friends with the members, chums with Ivan who had introduced me to his own buddies during an after party. I would've _never_ thought I'd make an appearance onstage at a concert of theirs. _Under and Over It_ _feat. Will Stronghold & Andy DownUndah_ was what it actually said on the audio copy.

I dared the phone to ring just one more time as I pushed myself through the rest of my workout. And as if out of fear of my wrath, it stayed silent.

Sweat was decently glistening on my body now. I let myself go boneless as I laid on the bench. My arms were trembling slightly from the prolonged exertion. Some stray strands of hair that had managed to escape the tie jumped from my face as I blew out a sigh. After a few minutes, I pushed myself up to sit with a groan. Grabbing my last water bottle, I drained the feeble amount of water from it.

With another, more exaggerated groan, I got to my feet. Then I stretched, taking a deep breath, oxygenating my muscles. A long sigh escaped me and I brushed the stray hairs back out of my face. I kicked off my sneakers, and left my study. My intent was to shower as I moved to cross the living room to my downstairs bathroom. But I froze. There was a huge shard of porcelain right in front of the open door with white powdery dust all around it.

I lowered my eyebrows and moved quickly to the doorway. The light was already on. And it was shining on my trashed bathroom. The sink was broken and pulled from the wall, lying on its side. The toilet was cracked and tilting slightly forward, vomit sitting stagnantly in the bowl and staining the few inches of what was left of the seat. The bathtub was tilted as well, and wrenched in _half_. There were porcelain shards and dust everywhere, a little water was pooled on the floor amongst mirror shards. I leaned over and looked at the pipes. They were pinched closed, and I could only imagine what pressure had built up.

I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I could hardly believe it. I tried to forensically put together what the hell had happened last night when I got home. I must've pushed past the door, stumbled, collapsed, grabbed at the sink, yanking it right from the wall. After that I'd probably gotten to my feet again, still holding a sink shard and stumbled again, grabbed the side of the bathtub and yanked it in half. Then grabbed at the toilet and vomited everything I'd eaten for the past three days. After emptying my guts I'd probably squeezed the pipes shut in drunken deliriousness and annoyance, and dropped the sink shard on my way out.

Just inside the door there was half of a boot mark in the dust. And at that moment, I realized that Andy had seen the damage. He had said, "Holy shit" and then laughed when he had stopped by earlier when he'd been downstairs. And he _hadn't_ told me when he'd come up.

"That bastard." I growled, going back to my study and seizing my cell phone. I stomped back to my poor bathroom. It looked like the Hulk had beaten the shit out of it with a taxicab. Personally, I wouldn't have put it past the guy when he was throwing a temper tantrum.

I held the nine to speed dial Andy on my phone and held it to my ear. It rang once.

I ground my teeth.

It rang twice.

I shook my head at the damage and brushed back my hair, still in disbelief.

It rang a third time.

There was a click, and I heard Andy greet me, "Hiya, Will."

"You son of a bitch, why didn't you tell me that I annihilated my downstairs bathroom?!"

I heard Andy chuckle in his throat. There was rustling on his end and I heard what sounded like a long, drawn out kiss. He breathily said, "Mmph…I started to, but I guess I was too busy nurturin' my poor, hung-over Willi-ah! Ohhh…"

I frowned, "What're you…Oh good god, you're having a threesome right now…"

"Yes, I most certainly am, mate. And let me tell you…ah! Easy, mate…he gives ahhh-!"

I cocked an eyebrow at the drawn out yell.

"-MAZING! F-fuh…sh-AH!…_CRIKEY!_"

I grimaced. The only time the Aussie ever said 'crikey' was when he was floored with shock, or when he was "cumming fucking explosively"…so he said. I used to laugh when he said that and had only heard him say "crikey" maybe four times in the years I'd known him and never for the latter reason.

After a long moment, Andy heaved a long, satisfied sigh on the other end. He cleared his throat and said, "He gives amazing head." I heard a deep, proud chuckle and then a woman's voice, "If you think my brother's amazing, you haven't seen anything yet."

My tongue lolled from my mouth and I shook my head, cringing. "_Okay_, that's weird." I said. "I'm hanging up now."

"Ya know you like the sound of it, Will. I'm gonna give you his numbah. Sex sandwich, mate." Andy chuckled, and then he grunted. He gasped, "Oh _hell_…you…_weren't_ fucking kiddin'." Then there was another long, drawn out kiss, a throaty moan and I quickly hung up the phone, disturbed and severely grossed out by what I'd just heard.


End file.
